Ghosts
by RattyCatty
Summary: Regina and Henry deal with Emma's death. Post-Neverland, pre-mid-season-finale. Implied Swan Queen, but focuses mainly on the feelings of Regina and Henry, and their relationship. Warning: Angst and major character death.


**This is set just after Emma, Regina, and the others return from Neverland, before Regina sends Henry and Emma to New York**. **It's ever so slightly AU in that Henry doesn't have Peter Pan in his body, so that whole deal is all over.** **It focuses mostly on Regina's feelings and her relationship with Henry, but it's written as if Regina had feelings for Emma (implied Swan Queen - yay!)**

**It's the first time I've attempted writing in present tense so I hope it's ok. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.**

**A warning: this is not light in any way. It's pure angst, and based on major character death. **

* * *

><p>It's a cold October day when the funeral happens. There's no theatrics like in the movies; no pure snow falling from the sky and coating the ground in a thick, white covering; no rain beating down like an imitation of the salty tears everyone's crying; just a grey sky and crunchy, dead leaves littering the earth on which they stand.<p>

Storybrooke is a small town. Everyone knows everyone, and everyone has an opinion. A funeral in such a small settlement would often be sadder than one in a large, bustling city – a death could affect most people in some way or another, and the town would be put under a veil of gloom for weeks, or even months.

This time is somehow worse, though, because it's the funeral of Emma Swan, the sheriff and saviour of the sleepy town. She exploded into the town almost three years ago and changed things forever: time began once more, and the Evil Queen's curse was broken. Emma Swan was a breath of fresh air, the town's salvation. In twenty eight years, no one had got under the unshakable Regina Mills' skin like she had.

She brought light and hope to a town that had none, a town that had been void of anything but repetitive misery for almost three decades.

She brought the same light and hope to the dark, cracked heart of Regina Mills.

No one had thought it possible. The Mayor of Storybrooke was cold and cruel, only ever warm to her adopted son, whom she treasured. She had had her heart broken one too many times, and it had done unspeakable things to her, things that had twisted her into becoming unbreakable. "Love is weakness," her mother had said, and she had learnt it was true.

Emma, though, had shown her that it was ok to love. Emma had faith in her when everyone else simply turned their backs on the Evil Queen (after all the things she had done to them, perhaps they were right to). Emma annoyed Regina to no end, made her feel again, and then slithered inside the cracks and chinks in her steel armour and showed her that she could be a good person and she could love again.

True, she hadn't managed to break down all of the towering walls Regina put up to shield herself from the monsters that had already hurt her too much, but she was getting there. In Neverland, they had made significant progress, had become _friends, _almost.

Regina Mills never thought she'd have friends again.

But now she was alone again, standing in the Storybrooke Cemetery, body still and face emotionless, whilst the saviour's loved ones shovelled dirt onto a box in the ground.

Nobody knows the extent to which Regina Mills cares about the blonde in the coffin. Some, such as a certain werewolf, suspect something went on between them, though aren't entirely sure _what. _Others reckon the sheriff is just another name on the list of people who have wronged the mayor.

_No one_ expects Regina to be devastated about Emma's death, and so she stays deathly still at the back of the crowd, pretending she isn't hurt by this occurrence.

Regina wishes she could pay her respects just as everyone else can. She wants nothing more than to say goodbye to the woman who made her feel something other than anger, to say _thank you. _No, that's wrong; she wants nothing more than for this to all be a horrible nightmare, and for her to wake up and find Emma eating bear claws, driving that hideous car, and being a general idiot.

It's torture being unable to pay her respects to the woman she cares so much for, the woman who helped her grow into the person she is now. It's torture she must endure, however, for this isn't her moment. This moment belongs to Emma and the ones she loves, the ones who openly love her back.

Regina is none of those. Regina never showed Emma she loves – _cares for _her, never went further than sharing a few token moments with her, telling her things she hadn't told anyone else – at least, not for a long, long time.

Regina watches the mournful procedure of the priest standing at the head of the deep hole containing the coffin, murmuring kind words. She listens to his words, watches the pained faces of Snow, Charming, Ruby, and everyone else who attended the funeral.

Snow looks as if she is about to burst into tears but is trying desperately to hold up, at least until they get home. Charming is holding onto his wife as if he's terrified he might lose her too if her loosens his grip. For the first time in a long time, Regina feels sorry for them. She imagines what it would be like if she lost Henry for so long, and then, just as she got him back, he slipped away forever. She feels a pang of guilt for being the reason the couple lost their only daughter for twenty eight years.

Heads are bowed in respect, no one looking too hard at anyone else in an attempt to give each other some semblance of privacy at such an agonising and emotional time.

Regina finds herself unable to look at Emma Swan's parents for another moment.

She bows her head like everyone else, remembers the first time Emma came to Storybrooke. God, she had hated her. Henry had stuck to her like glue, and Regina felt icy, stabbing fear in her stomach, felt as if she couldn't breathe, like all the oxygen had been sucked away from her. She had known this day would arrive, and it had, and she felt it would be the end of her.

Still, she had straightened up and put on a smile, just as her mother had taught her to do at a young age. "Look your best, even when you don't feel your best," she had said. "That way, no one will be aware of the weakness inside you." It was something Regina had lived by her entire life, and it was certainly effective in scaring off threats.

Not Emma though. No, Emma had shaken off Regina's oozing confidence and subtle threats with a raised brow and a smirk, always cool and laid-back. It was infuriating, but also a welcome challenge. Everyone else in Storybrooke did what she wanted, when she wanted – the curse made sure of that.

And then Regina peers up cautiously, as if she's scared of what she might see, because her now almost-teenage son is here, and he's lost one mother.

The boy looks years younger, fearful and desolate. Regina can tell he wants to cry, can see the tell-tale glisten of his eyes, but he doesn't. Like both his mothers, he will not show his weakness, though not for fear of being hurt. He hides his pain because he doesn't want to concern others – always kind and considerate.

Regina's head dips once more, and her mind wanders through a field of memories, both Henry and Emma.

Neither Regina nor anyone else notices the single tear that rolls down her cheek.

* * *

><p>It's late when Regina and Henry get home – home is Regina's mansion now. Snow's apartment brings back too many memories, and the mansion brings back warm, welcome memories of childhood innocence and his life before his deceased biological mother.<p>

"Do you want to stay up for a bit?" Regina offers when they get in at eleven pm. She's unsure what his routine has been with the Charmings and doesn't want to treat him like a small child, especially after what's happened. If she's completely honest, she hopes he'll say yes, just so she doesn't have to be on her own with her thoughts as she has been all day.

He shakes his head and looks down at the polished wooden flooring. "No," he says. "I think I'll just go to bed, if that's ok." The way he says it is as if he's trying to make everything seem normal, as if he's not in pain. Regina is all too familiar with that.

She nods and gives him a small smile, as if to say, "You know you can talk to me if you want." She knows, though, that he likely won't. He's the son of Regina and Emma, and neither are big on sharing feelings.

He turns to head up the stairs, but falters and turns back to his mother for a second. He looks hesitant, and he mumbles, "Could you, y'know, tuck me in?"

Regina's heart squeezes painfully in her chest. It's been a while since she's done this – since he's wanted her to do this. She gives him a nod and a warm smile. "Of course. I'll be up when you're ready."

Henry nods and heads up the stairs.

Regina exhales shakily. It's getting harder to hold in her tears and pretend she's not deeply hurt by Emma's death.

She goes to the large kitchen, pours herself a generous amount of apple cider, and just _thinks._

No one expected Emma to go out this way; everyone had expected her to go out with a bang in some great act of heroism, or not at all – somehow go on living forever, because Emma was Emma and after everything she'd been through and survived, she seemed utterly indestructible.

But this was real life, not a fairy tale or one of Henry's comic books, and nothing happened like that.

At some point, Emma had been exposed to some source of corrupt magic (according to Mr Gold), and it reacted badly with the magic already inside her. The magic was different to the dark magic Regina had, in that it was far more toxic and one didn't even have to use it to be poisoned by it – one simply had to be near a source of it. The saviour's light magic had attempted to fight it, but the impure force would not yield, and so Emma's magic fought and fought until it no longer could.

Emma had spent most of her last days in a deep sleep, a sheen of cold sweat coating her fragile skin. Dr Whale, Doc, Mr Gold, and Regina herself had done everything they could to draw the magic out of her, but it was to no avail, and one night, she simply slipped away.

Watching such a powerful hero fade away so helplessly was upsetting for everyone, to say the least.

The only consolation was that people who had been affected by the ailment weren't contagious, meaning no more deaths to add to the misery.

Clumsy footsteps of a teenage boy bring Regina back to herself, and she places her now-empty glass on the counter. Her son smiles sheepishly at her, but the smile doesn't meet his eyes. Regina nods, and he leads them to his room, the room that is still the same as it was when he was ten, even though he hasn't slept in it for years.

He climbs into bed, pulling the clean sheets over himself like a shield, and his mother sits on the edge. She places a hand on his cheek and thinks about how much he's grown up. She remembers when he was a tiny baby in her arms and wouldn't stop screaming, and she remembers when he was a young child, bright-eyed and full of love for his mother, blissfully unaware of her past or the truth about his family.

Now he's aware, and it's just the two of them once again, except now they're both full of hurt over a hero who stormed into their life three years ago.

"Mom?" the boy asks tentatively, his voice small. "Can we see her tomorrow?"

Regina doesn't have to ask what he means, and she nods, because she wants the same. Going with Henry to Emma's grave at least offers a little more privacy than being there with everyone else who cares about her.

She must have shown some hint of the emotion she was feeling, because Henry reaches up and places his own hand over hers. "Mom, it's gonna be ok. We'll get through this," he tells her earnestly, and though his eyes are full of sadness, she knows he's right. They are Mills', and Mills' have a knack for surviving and coping.

Still, she hates that her son has to be the one to comfort her when he's likely in even more pain than she is.

The mayor nods, and smiles. "I know, dear," she breathes, and chuckles when Henry yawns so hard he looks almost like a cartoon he used to enjoy so much. "Is it time to sleep?" she suggests, lightening the mood slightly.

Henry smirks, and this time, the smile touches his eyes – just barely, but it does. He nods, and slides further down into the covers.

Regina leans down to hug him tightly, and he grips her warm body like he did when he was five.

A minute later, they break apart, and Regina gets up, smooths out his blankets, and gives him one last smile and a kiss on the forehead before leaving and quietly shutting the door behind her.

* * *

><p>It's a quarter to one in the morning when Regina finally breaks down.<p>

She's thinking about all the small, stupid things Emma would do: the way she just smirked every time Regina tried to run her out of town; that stupid, adorable puppy face she did when something pleased or upset her; the crap she stuffed herself with when she was supposed to be working; those terrible coloured leather jackets she always wore.

All those things are unique to Emma Swan, and Regina loves how idiotically cute it all was.

Now it's all gone.

That's when Regina realises her cheeks are wet, her eyes are red, and she's crying. Realising she's crying only makes it worse, and she has to muffle her sobs with her pillow, as she had to so often when she lived with her mother, and then with the king.

She cries so hard she can hardly breathe; she cries for the life Emma never got to fully experience, she cries for Henry's loss, and she cries for herself – her loss of something she never had.

Regina doesn't know how long she cries for, but after a while, she recognises the signs of an oncoming headache, and finds herself becoming drained, both physically and emotionally.

"Mom?"

Regina freezes, her face still in the pillow. She doesn't dare say anything as she knows her voice will be small and choked.

"Mom?" Henry asks again, sounding concerned.

She can't ignore him this time, and so she forces the tears to stop coming and sits up to face the silhouette of her son in the doorway. The light of the landing behind him stings her eyes, and she blinks, simultaneously trying to get used to the brightness and get rid of unshed tears. "Henry?"

He steps into the room and pushes the door shut with a quiet click, plunging the two of them into merciful darkness. "I couldn't sleep," he mumbles as he makes his way over to the bed.

He stands by the empty side awkwardly, as if he wants to get in but isn't sure how to ask, so Regina pulls the covers back in invitation. Henry gratefully slides in beside his mother, burrowing into her warm side like he did as a toddler when he had nightmares. She puts an arm around him and takes comfort in his warmth and weight, uses him as an anchor to prevent herself from drifting into thoughts which may break her down again.

"I kept having nightmares," he admits in his throaty voice.

"Do you want to talk about them?"

There's a beat of silence, and then he grunts a 'no'.

He's heard the whole "you can talk to me if you want" thing before, so she doesn't bother saying it, and instead, they lay in silence as they each get lost in the respective messes of their thoughts.

"I can't believe she's gone," Henry breathes. "She was so…she always found a way to survive and save the day," he ponders.

Regina swallows, thinking about how Emma's fate wasn't like anything she'd been subjected to before. It was brutal, unforgiving, and had no obvious weakness. A dragon, someone out for revenge, or even a wraith, can be stopped with tact, magic, or physical strength and dexterity, but an illness? That's something quite different. "Henry–" she begins.

"I know, I know. The circumstances, and all." He swallows and furrows his brow. "It's just…I never imagined it would happen to her," he says, once again showing how much he'd grown up since Emma had arrived from Boston. His voice cracks on the last word, though, and it's not because of puberty.

Regina isn't sure how to reply – comforting had never been her strong point. Sure, she could look after him when he got sick and endure and sooth temper tantrums, but this was different. Somehow, though she was no stranger to death and grievance, words escaped her. "It's always sudden," she says softly. "Even when it's not."

He nods, processing her words. It's true; they had all seen it coming when Emma started spending all her time sleeping, sometimes not even waking to eat, and yet, everyone had expected her to miraculously be ok because she was the saviour, and completely wonderful and resilient.

"Are you ok?" Henry suddenly says, out of the blue, and looks up at his mother.

Shocked, Regina glances down at the boy clinging to her like his life depends on it. She stammers, unsure of how to reply – no one's really been concerned about her wellbeing before, apart from when it's helped them. Before she can decide what to say (whether or not to lie), her son quietly explains, "I heard you crying."

Regina exhales and runs her free hand through her dark hair. She's not ok, and feels bad lying to her son when he's clearly grown up enough to handle things, but feels equally bad burdening him with her emotions as well as her own. "I will be," she simply says.

"I – I thought you hated Emma?" Henry asks, sounding genuinely confused, because he saw the way they acted together. Though they got better since returning from Neverland, there was still tension between them, and he had no idea his adoptive mother cared so much about his biological mother.

"Not for a long time," she confesses. She hadn't _hated _Emma since the blonde had brought Henry back from a sleeping curse with True Love's kiss. She had disliked her, yes, but how could she truly hate the woman who had rescued Henry – and not long after, Regina herself? "There are things I wish I had had the chance to tell her."

"You can tell her tomorrow," Henry promises, resting his head against his mother's shoulder, breathing in her familiar, comforting smell.

"I know," she breathed.

They lapse into silence once more, and not long after, Henry falls asleep, Regina following quickly.

* * *

><p>The next morning, they go to Emma's grave as planned, and are please to find no one else has decided to visit so early. It's just a hair past nine in the morning, and Regina suspects that if Emma gets any visitors today, they'll probably arrive later in the day.<p>

Henry lays a bouquet of lilies before the headstone before stepping back to stand beside his mother.

Regina's smiles reassuringly at her son, and he gives her a small smile back. It's an unspoken promise that neither will judge the other for their words or actions concerning the death of the saviour.

The mayor seems to attempt to burrow into the fluffy white scarf around her neck as they stand over the grave. It's chilly, but the action has more to do with emotional comfort than warmth. She takes a step back as her son begins to talk, and tunes out his words to offer a hint of privacy.

After a while, he steps back too, and looks at Regina, offering her her turn. She ducks her head awkwardly (one would never guess she was once a queen) and steps towards the place where Emma rests.

Gloved hands are shoved into pockets and she simply stands in silence for a minute, choosing her words.

"I want to thank you, Emma, for giving me Henry," she began, cringing slightly at how inept her words sound. "I realise it wasn't a conscious decision – you didn't choose me of all people to care for him – but I'm grateful nonetheless. Your decisions and pain gave me my – _our – _son, and I cannot thank you enough," she says.

Then she realises she's standing in a graveyard, talking to someone who almost certainly can't hear her, and she feels like a fool. She almost shakes her head and turns back, but Henry's hand on her elbow urges her to carry on, to get her feelings out.

She exhales and chuckles in a self-deprecating way. "God, I feel ridiculous," she breathes. "I didn't appreciate you enough while you were here. I don't want to kill you, and I admit that I have been somewhat rude to you – so, apologies for that."

The breeze ruffles Regina's fluffy hair, and she pulls her coat tighter around her. "Everyone attended your funeral," she mumbles, at a loss for words.

Then she frowns, looks up at the sky and swallows before brown eyes return to the grave where Emma lays. "I miss you, you idiot," she grumbles, tears springing to her eyes and promptly spilling over, down her cheeks.

She doesn't bother hiding them, because the only person around is Henry, and if by the way he's now holding her close is anything to go by, he's already aware of them.

Henry just holds her as she continues to cry, and she feels terribly guilty and embarrassed but she can't stop now. It's too late, she's too far gone, and the damage is done.

They stand there like that for God knows how long, until Regina's cried it all out and composed herself again, and then they stand there for a little while longer, just mother and son taking comfort in each other.

"We'll be ok," Regina murmurs, partially to herself and partially to her son.

"I know we will, mom. We're Mills'."


End file.
